


i don't mind if you don't mind

by Eyesofdoe



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-08 08:06:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14689935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyesofdoe/pseuds/Eyesofdoe
Summary: Stan Uris is in love with Mike Hanlon. He thinks about it approximately every hour of every day, and the distraction is going to start infringing on their friendship if he doesn’t figure out a way to distract himself from said distraction.





	1. he'll do

Stan Uris is in love with Mike Hanlon. He thinks about it approximately every hour of every day, and the distraction is going to start infringing on their friendship if he doesn’t figure out a way to distract himself from said distraction. It’s one thing when he’s watching him at football games during halftime, where his trombone obstructs his vision to the point that he can’t possibly see Stan staring from the sidelines. It’s another thing when they’re in AP Lit, where they share a small round table and Mike often catches his eye and winks during silent reading, setting his insides aflutter and making it very, very difficult to focus  _ Catch-22 _ with a straight face.

Anyway, Stan is open to distractions. He first tries it in the form of becoming drastically overinvolved in his piano lessons, constantly playing out rhythms with his fingertips whenever he finds himself wanting to stare at Mike. He goes above and beyond perfecting Chopin’s Prelude in E minor, and his piano teacher compliments him on his ability to play it without looking towards the keys. But, really, he owes it all to his tendency to watch Mike  _ during  _ his silent practices. (And once aloud in the auditorium. He’d been practicing after school, and Mike had been setting up for some sort of after school band event. He’d continued his practice, but found himself keeping his eyes trained on Mike.)

After piano fails, he tries drawing. Birds, usually, using his guidebooks for references. He likes sketching the wings most, especially in flight. But it doesn’t take long for this to backfire, as Mike eventually notices his hobby and compliments his corncrake and makes Stan’s whole face flush.

“I know it’s geeky.” He says, trying to draw Mike’s attention away from him and back to  _ Pride and Prejudice,  _ despite Mike’s usual complaints about how Darcy puts him to sleep. 

“No, Stan, it’s cool! And you’re really good. What a funny-looking little dude.”

He smiles his warm smile, and Stan promptly shuts his notebook and yanks his own copy of  _ Pride and Prejudice  _ out of his backpack _.  _ He finished it a week ago, and his assigned essay is already half-done, but Mike doesn’t need to know that.

On one of his last attempts, he finds something semi-permanent. He starts learning French, carrying flashcards from class to class.

“You know we have a class for that, right?” Richie asks at lunch one day, when Mike is wearing a particularly distracting tank top and Stan just Can’t Handle It today.

“Do we?” Stan asks, dryly. 

Richie snatches his flashcards away, hands sticky with the remains of the cotton candy he’d bought at Citgo that morning, and Stan decides he probably doesn’t want the flashcards back.

“God, this is beginner stuff.” Richie snorts. “Dog, cat, the colors. This is nowhere near conversational, Stanley.”

“How would you know, you insufferable asshole?” Stan asks, but he’s smiling.

“I’m in AP French, motherfucker, I’m practically fluent.” Richie says. “Good ol’ Mags used to send me to immersion camps every summer when we were kids.”

“Why?” Stan asks.

“To get rid of me for the summer, mostly. But also because French is the second most spoken language in Maine, and she figured it might be useful for whatever career I choose to pursue.”

“This seems like it could be true, but I have doubts.”

“Je veux dormir dans ton lit ce soir, mon amour.” Richie says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

“That hardly proves anything.” Stan says, despite not knowing what it means. It sounds undeniably simple, and he knows it must be something dirty with the way Richie is leering at him.

“Sorry I don’t have a time to write out the next great French classic for you today, Stan. If it makes any difference to you, I’ve read a lot of Victor Hugo in its original language. And I tutor a lot of kids in my class. Monsieur LeClerc says I’ll probably make a five on the AP test.”

“Alright, alright. Enough proof there. It’s starting to sound like you’re overcompensating for something.”

“In case it’s what you’re referring to, my cock is trés grand, Stanley. I trust you have that in your notes here.”

“Jesus, Richie.” Mike says from across the table, and Stan feels suddenly powerless without his flashcards. Mike’s well defined arms and broad shoulders hit him in a combo move that has him pushing his baked potato away, stomach suddenly turning too much for him to eat. “Can you go one lunch period without talking about your dick?”

“C’mon, Michael, I haven’t talked about it all week!”

“It’s Tuesday!” 

“ _ Anyway,  _ Stan, if you want me to help you on this French quest of yours then I’d be more than happy to tutor you, too. Free of charge.” Richie winks. “Besides some of your sweet lovin’, maybe.”

Stan has a sudden flashback to Fourth of July, when he was driving Bev home after dropping Richie off across town.

“You and Richie have been spending a lot of time together this summer.” She’d commented, fidgeting with her tutu and pretending not to be sneaking glances to see Stan’s reaction.

“I guess so.” Stan had shrugged. “He’s my best friend.”

“And nothing else?”

“Not that I know of.”

“He wanted me to find out if you had a thing for him.”

“Let him down gently.” Stan had said, dryly.

And then he didn’t think about it again. Until now.

Richie’s pubescent transformation had been one of the most dramatic Stan had ever seen, anyway, gawky awkwardness giving away to long, elegant limbs and a distinct height advantage over most people. And, clashing colors be damned, he’d learned to dress in his own personal style that a lot of girls at their school went nuts over. 

Stan sneaks a covert glance, taking in black ripped jeans and a bright yellow windbreaker layered over a purple t-shirt,  and he thinks that maybe this could work.

It’s an agonizing wait for physics, Stan’s only class with Beverly and his only class without Richie or Mike, who were both in the advanced class. They share a lab table, and he plops down onto his stool with a mission.

“Does Richie still like me?” He asks, and Bev looks shocked.

“I’d have to find out for sure, but chances are high. He hasn’t slept with anyone since school’s started, so I can only assume he’s holding out for you. What about Mike?”

“I think it might benefit me to like someone who likes me back.”

“Uh, no shit, but you can’t force feelings.” Bev says. “And I love you, Stan, but Richie is my ride or die. I’ll have to kill you if this is some plot to make Mike jealous.”

“That’s not what it is, really. I just need someone to help me get over him.”

“No ulterior motive?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Then I’ll talk to Richie. Expect a date with everyone’s favorite motormouth within five to seven business days.”

“Thanks, Bev.”

“No problem. Just remember what I said. If you dump him for Mike, we’re going to have words.”

At lunch the next day, Richie waits until Mike leaves and then asks Stan if he wants to get milkshakes after school.

_ This could really work.  _ Stan thinks again as he and Richie walk to calculus together. 

Richie barely speaks to him all class, but every time Stan sneaks a peek he has a huge grin practically splitting his face in two. It’s unusual to see Richie so quiet, so Stan guesses that this something he must have really wanted. Richie catches him staring and flashes him a smile. 

He’ll do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!!! this is a sort of prequel to we'll all be gone for the summer, which is why eddie, bill, and ben aren't mentioned at all. just thought it might be fun to see richie and stan's disastrous high school relationship as it unfolded pre-wabgfts. you definitely don't have to read wabgfts to understand this, BUT if you want to see stan get his happy ending then you'll want to redirect your attention over there.  
> title taken from read my mind by the killers, come scream to me @beavertrapping on tumblr!!


	2. but i don't really like you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s never been nervous around Richie, not in nearly fourteen years of friendship, but he suddenly feels it.

They get milkshakes after school, which evolves into accompanying Richie to the comic book shop the next day, and on Friday night Richie takes him to the movies to see the latest comedy. It’s a little vulgar for Stan’s taste, but Richie seems to be enjoying it and it’s nothing that truly offends him.

“Seventeen was my favorite birthday.” Richie says as they leave, headed straight for the ice cream shop down the street. 

“Why?” Stan asks, too afraid of the awkward silences that sometimes permeate within their conversations.

“I could start watching R-rated movies in theaters.” Richie says, shrugging. “That’s the big reason, anyway. Some other good things happened to me.”

Stan knows, because of their best friendship prior to this romance he’s ignited, that the other good things Richie is referring to is the loss of his virginity. He ignores that part, however, and soldiers on. “I’m sure you could watch them before. It’s not like they ever card., and you’ve always looked older.”

“Not unless they strap you with braces the second all your baby teeth are gone.” Richie says. “They carded me until I finally got them off, even after I turned seventeen.”

Stan had actually forgotten about Braceface Richie, a character in itself without Richie’s silly voices. When he’d first gotten them on he’d practically taken a vow of silence, embarrassed to be the only kid in their elementary school class with a metalmouth. He got them off at the beginning of last summer, a short period of time ago, but long enough for Stan to shirk their existence entirely.

“They’ve never carded me.” Stan says, not bothering to add that he didn’t try seeing R-rated movies until after his seventeenth birthday, too afraid of that shameful walk away from the ticket booth. “But I’ve never had braces, either.”

“I’m shocked they don’t.” Richie says, holding open the door to the ice cream shop. “You’ve got a bad case of Baby Face.”

Stan doesn’t say anything this time, just gives Richie a funny look, and Richie looks suddenly mortified.

“I forgot that you don’t say those kinds of things to people you’re dating.” He says. “If we’re dating. If you even want to date me after that Baby Face remark. Let me buy your ice cream.”

“You don’t have to buy me off.” Stan laughs softly. “I’m not angry. You’re still allowed to tease me.”

“You have no idea how well I can tease.” Richie winks, transitioning back to his usual self. “But I want to buy your ice cream because I like you. Chivalry’s not dead, Stanley.”

Stan shrugs, gets a scoop of vanilla in a paper cup. Richie opts for strawberry, plus about fifteen assorted samples.

“How can you not get a waffle cone?” Richie asks once they’re seated in one of the booths. The light overhead flickers, and Stan hopes it doesn’t go out.

“They break and they make a mess.” He says. “The ice cream melts and starts dripping down the sides, out the bottom. It’s not very practical.”

“But you can eat the container.” Richie protests, and to Stan’s horror, takes a bite out of the bottom of the cone when he’s hardly made a dent in the actual ice cream. “So it’s much better for the environment.”

“If you get that on the table, I’m going to tell on you.”

“Who are you going to tell?”

“The girl at the counter.”

Richie sneaks a quick glance. “She doesn’t care. And she’s in my drama class. I can talk her out of any real action.”

“I will take it to the authorities then. You must be punished.”

“God, you’re cute.” Richie snorts, sucking the ice cream out of the bottom. 

Stan doesn’t know what to say, so he makes sure to take a particularly big bite to make it seem like his mouth is too full to respond.

He’s never been nervous around Richie, not in nearly fourteen years of friendship, but he suddenly feels it. He assures himself it must mean he’s developing some sort of romantic feelings, and he takes the time it takes to let the ice cream melt to look at him again.

Richie’s attractive and that’s an objective truth. Stan knows, Bev knows, and Mike’s admitted a few times when he and Richie have been drinking a little more heavily than usual. Girls pay more attention to him now than they ever did before, and for most of their junior year it seemed like a different conquest every month for him. So he knows, at the very least, that he should feel flattered. 

“I didn’t freak you out, did I?” Richie asks, clearly taking notice of the silent moment.

“No, you didn’t.” Stan says. “I just...haven’t really done this whole thing before, so it kind of catches me off guard. You know, the romantic aspect of it.”

“You’ve dated.” Richie protests.

“I guess so. I’ve gone on dates. People usually end up thinking I’m boring, so it never goes very far.”

“You’re everything but boring, Stan.” Richie says, then looks as if he’s debating whether or not he should say something. After what feels like an eternity of silence, he presses onward. “You’ve always been a lot of fun. I realized I liked you last summer when we went camping in Mike’s backyard and you told that scary story and you got super into it. It was adorable, really, and for sure a lot of fun.”

The camping trip was in June, near the beginning when Stan and Richie were just starting to spend all of their free time together. It was a significant moment for Stan, too, but for a much different reason. Not only had Mike been totally enraptured in his story, even going so far to compliment him on his abilities, but the they had shared a tent. Bev and Richie had slept in one, riding on the tail end of some weird friends with benefits arrangement they’d had, so Stan shared with Mike. And it was one of the most sleepless nights of his life, most of it spent watching his bare back rise and fall with his breaths, like some sort of Twilight-esque stalker boyfriend. 

“I don’t even remember the story, now.” Richie continues. “Just the way you looked telling it, all excited and hogging the spotlight for once.”

Stan just shrugs again, something he finds himself doing a lot during his dates with Richie. “I was just happy to see you quiet for once.”

Richie laughs. “Good one, Stan.”

“Thanks.” Stan blushes, and he knows that the joke wasn’t quite worth the boisterous laugh Richie had rewarded him with, but he supposes that that’s what dating is all about. God only knows how many of Richie’s terrible jokes he’s forced himself to chuckle at.

“You ready to get out of here?” Richie asks, noticing Stan’s empty cup. His ice cream and cone are gone, too, his fingers shiny and probably sticky.

“Can you wash your hands?” Stan asks, almost without thinking.

“Got it.” Richie nods. “I’ll be back in a minute and then I can take you home.”

It’s a Friday night, and their third date, so Stan knows that Richie is going to expect a kiss when they get back to his house. Maybe even a little more, if his parents aren’t home. He racks his brain, trying to figure out if his parents had scheduled a date night this weekend. He really, really hopes they did. Kissing is one thing, he’s kissed before, but he’s not quite ready to surrender his virginity to Richie Tozier, and doing anything beyond kissing would surely put him on the fast track to that. Especially with Richie’s experience. If it’s anything like what he claims, he’s used to having sex way before his relationships are made official.

It’s just not really Stan’s style. He doesn’t look down on it or anything, but it’s something he holds close. Sure, he’s fantasized plenty of times, about a few different people (With even Richie making his own guest appearances. Stan’s only human, and Richie way, way overshares his own sex life), but his brain consistently returns to Mike. But holding out for Mike, who hasn’t even extended a single hint that he’s sexually attracted to Stan, is unrealistic.

Either way, Stan is not fucking Richie tonight, that much is decided.

Richie returns with clean hands, helping Stan out of the booth with one of them. He doesn’t let go once they’re on the move, holding Stan’s hand all the way out to his pickup. Stan could almost call it nice, the way Richie’s guitar-calloused hands feel in his.

“You need to stop anywhere?” Richie asks once he’s behind the wheel.

“No.” Stan says, and they’re off.

Richie drives a manual, because of course he does, constantly flaunting his niche little skills for those lesser than them. And he plays guitar, better than anyone else Stan has ever met, always plucking out songs by The Who and Led Zeppelin and every other band Stan knows literally nothing about. He also speaks fluent French, as Stan was informed literally three days ago, and Richie is almost prodigal when it comes to picking up weird talents.

“When did you learn stick?” Stan asks.

“Uh...right when I started driving. I just bought this thing and made myself learn it.”

“How’d that work out?” Stan asks, because to him, it sounds like a living nightmare. He’s seen Richie stall out at stop signs, watched as he shifts hard and the truck jerks, and he can’t imagine it happening any more frequently that it does now.

“I mean...pretty well. If I wanted to get anywhere, I had to do it. I could probably teach you if you wanted.”

Stan already has a lot of anxiety when it comes to driving, and the idea of giving him even more to focus on and plenty more opportunities to fuck up doesn’t exactly sound pleasant. “No thanks.”

Richie just laughs at that, shifts into fifth and speeds up, clearly trying to show off. He backs off almost immediately, though, knowing that drag racing isn’t Stan’s idea of a good night. The truck is loud, though, and Stan laughs in spite of his own worries. He finds himself wishing his window was down, craving the feeling of his fingers skimming against the night air. They pull up into Stan’s driveway shortly afterward, and Stan inhales sharply when he sees that his parents aren’t at home.

“Want to come in?” He finds himself asking, knowing it will come off as rude if he just tells Richie to get home.

Richie looks shocked, but nods, clambering out of the car to get Stan’s door for him. “After you, my fine Uris.”

They end up on the couch, because it feels like some sort of protective layer that will keep Richie from even attempting to get in his pants.

Richie tells him about a skit he and Bev have been working on in drama, some modernized version of Midsummer Night’s Dream for their Shakespeare unit.

“So, it’s modern, obviously. And I think we decided that Helena and Hermia are going to run off together in the end. After they tell Lysander and Demetrius to shove it, of course.” He says, looking animated.

Stan forgets that Richie’s smart, sometimes. He especially forgets that Richie even loves learning, sometimes. In classes where he’s hands-on, allowed to have his outbursts and make his own conclusions, Richie flourishes.

“What’s your favorite class?” Stan asks. “Like, ever?” 

Because he genuinely wants to know. A look into the brilliant (but constantly distracted) mind of Richie Tozier.

“Chemistry.” Richie replies without missing a beat. “What’s yours?”

“Why?” Stan asks, ignoring his question.

“A lot of active participation, I’m good at math, Mr. Henderson is probably the best teacher at the school, so we did a lot of cool shit.” He shrugs. “I got to hold fire. So...it was pretty cool. Tell me yours.”

“I don’t know.” Stan says. “I like calculus.”

“Very straightforward, very Stanley.”

“As if you know me so well.”

“I do! We’ve only known each other for forever.”

Stan, again, doesn’t know how to respond. It gets quiet, and Stan looks down at his hands to pass the time before Richie inevitably speaks again. Instead of talking, though, Richie cradles his chin and tilts it upwards so he’s looking him in the eye.

“I want to kiss you.” Richie says, oddly quiet. “But I want your permission first.”

Stan gives him a slight nod, tries to quell the shaky breaths currently escaping from his mouth as Richie leans in. He lets Richie kiss him, and after a moment, he kisses back. He tangles his hands in Richie’s hair, something he’s admittedly thought about before, and desperately pushes away the thoughts of Mike that come creeping in.

Richie is a distraction, but he’s not a way for Stan to pretend he’s with Mike. It crosses too many boundaries, and bridges the gap between kind of insensitive to downright awful when it comes to this whole dating Richie to get over Mike thing.

The way that Richie kisses him is different than what he’d expected. He’s not aggressive or inherently sexual or sloppy. It’s on the better end of the scale of kisses that Stan has received, and he finds himself relaxing into it. Richie’s hands move to his hips, pulling him in close on the couch until they’re chest to chest. Stan breaks away, finally, when he feels Richie’s tongue sweeping along his lower lip.

“Was that too much?” Richie asks. “God, I should’ve asked first, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Stan says, sensing an oncoming fit of insecurity. “Rich. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Richie doesn’t look convinced, so Stan leans in and kisses him again, as dirty as he knows how. His hands curl tighter in Richie’s hair, holding on for dear life as Richie proceeds to kiss the hell out of him, tongue rolling slow and thorough into his mouth. Stan thinks maybe he could get used to this, actually, Richie’s definitely not scraping the bottom of the barrel. 

When he pulls off this time, Richie doesn’t look anything but thrilled. He leans in close, arm creeping over the couch towards Stan.

“What do you want to do now, Stanley?” He asks, voice deep and slow.

Stan has witnessed him do this to girls before. Usually at parties, often pressing them up against the kitchen counter. (Always the kitchen, because Stan is always raiding the cabinets for Moscato while everyone else is content to drink whatever liquor someone’s parents don’t touch) And it’s a pretty high success rate, with Richie usually scoring at least some heavy makeouts, and Stan suddenly understands why as Richie looms over him, eyes heavy with suggestion.

“I think…” He swallows, nearly fighting to get the words out. “I think that’s all I want to do for now, Richie.”

“No problem.” Richie says, backing off immediately. “Do you want to hang out tomorrow?”

“My parents and I are doing a hike. Before it starts getting cold again.”

“Oh, bummer.”

“You can come if you want.” Stan says, casually, as if he’s not inviting  _ Richie Tozier  _ hiking with  _ his parents.  _

“I might. I don’t want to impose.”

“You won’t impose.” Stan rolls his eyes. “You’re around the house all the time anyway. They won’t think anything of it.”

“If you say so.” Richie says as he stands. “I think I’ll be on my way, then. Just text me about hiking or whatever.”

“I will.” Stan says, and he follows Richie to the door.

Richie kisses him one last time before he leaves, soft and sweet. And then he takes Stan’s face in his hands. “Look, Stan, I don’t want you to feel rushed into anything. I know I can be kind of a slut, but I can wait, too. And you’re worth waiting on.”

Stan just nods, and Richie presses a kiss to the tip of his nose.

And he just knows he’s fucked, because Richie has officially gone soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick updates will prob stop for a little bit, as i'm hoping to start writing wabgfts again  
> chapter title from bones by the killers (the last title from the killers, i promise.)  
> scream at me @beavertrapping on tumblr pls pls pls


	3. you make it hard to be faithful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hike is cancelled midway through because Richie twists his ankle, and Stan finds himself sitting in the emergency room lobby holding his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains like...mildly sexual content? it is so tame, i think, that you will probably be disappointed.

The hike is cancelled midway through because Richie twists his ankle, and Stan finds himself sitting in the emergency room lobby holding his hand.

“I just want to make sure nothing’s broken!” Richie had protested when Stan tried to shoulder him into his own truck instead. Despite his supposed ankle pain, he manages to wrestle Stan into the driver’s seat of his parents’ car, spouting out directions to the hospital like it’s a second home. Knowing Richie, it probably is.

An hour ticks by before they finally call Richie’s name, and Stan’s stomach is rumbling from hunger. They haven’t eaten since breakfast that morning, and Stan hadn’t really had time to go through a drive through in the midst of Richie’s insistence that he was dying. So, he makes a decision. He grabs Richie by the hand, catching him right before he limps through the doors.

“Do you want something to eat?”

“Chicken nuggets. Wherever you go, just get me some chicken nuggets.” Richie says, and those are his final words before he’s led back to be examined.

Stan hops in the car, texts Richie to let him know if he finishes up early, and heads for Wendy’s. He’s sure Richie had something like McDonald’s in mind, but Stan needs something just a little higher class. He eats and has time to run by Starbucks too, just for a much needed pick me up, before Richie texts him back. He returns to the hospital to find Richie with a wrap on his ankle and some ice in hand.

“It’s sprained.” He explains to Stan’s curious eyes. “Guess someone is going to have to carry my books next week.”

“Like you bring your books to school.”

“We’re seniors, why would I bring my books?”

Stan just rolls his eyes, providing a shoulder for Richie to lean on as he hobbles back out to the car.

“Are you going to be able to get your truck home?” Stan asks as they pull out of the hospital parking lot.

“Yeah, definitely not. As much as I’d love my weekend dose of Stanley and family, I think I should go home and give the parents an explanation for the hospital bills they will soon receive. I had fun today, though, sprained ankle and all.”

“You’re a trooper, Richie. A hero to us all.”

“Besides, I already asked Mike to pick up my truck at your house.” Richie shrugs. “Which reminds me, can you do me yet another huge favor and go pick him up later?”

“Like…” Stan starts, desperately trying to sound casual. “When later?”

“Probably around six. He’s working at the library right now, but they close early since it’s Sunday.”

Stan glances at the clock. It’s only three. He can make it to Mike's in time for sure. It almost feels like a setup, as if Richie is testing him for a reaction. Stan’s careful to keep his face neutral, but his heart is beating faster regardless. 

When they get to Richie’s house, Stan escorts him inside and stands awkwardly to the side as Richie explains the situation to his mother. She just chuckles, elbows deep in dishwater, and tells him to get plenty of rest. Stan thinks that if he sprained his ankle and didn’t call immediately, his mother would declare a state of emergency. Richie, though, has always had a different sort of relationship with his parents. One of slight indifference, of acceptance that their son is the human manifestation of chaos. 

Stan continues his services as he helps Richie down to his room in the basement, providing a sturdy shoulder and a death grip on the handrail. Richie nudges the door shut behind them with his good foot, and then they’re in his bedroom. Alone.

“So.” Richie says, settling uncomfortably down onto the bed. “Welcome to my room.”

Stan and Richie spent countless hours in his room over the summer, listening to records and playing heinous amounts of Mario Party on his old GameCube. But it’s undeniably different now, as Stan joins Richie on the bed, flopping onto his back and struggling to contain his surprise when Richie straddles him.

Richie’s already hard enough that Stan can feel it through his shorts, maybe just from the basic notion of being alone together? Either way, he sucks in a breath through his teeth when Stan wiggles against him, struggling to slide upwards so their mouths line up.

“You okay?” Stan asks, knowing the answer, but wanting to hear Richie say so.

“Never better.” Richie says. “Just kiss me.”

Stan must look taken aback, because Richie immediately sets in on his apologies.

“Unless you don’t want to! I can be so pushy, I’m sorry Stan. Don’t do anything you don’t want to do. Throw me off if you have to, ankle be damned, I will not-”

“Richie.” Stan says, interrupting and taking Richie’s face in his hands. “Just fucking kiss me.”

“That I can do.” Richie says, and then he does, leaning down until their lips meet. It’s a little uncomfortable, Stan craning his neck in order to kiss back, but it’s definitely doing something for him too. Richie’s weight on top of him is a comforting thing, despite the fact that he’s probably a good thirty pounds heavier. 

“Are you sure your ankle’s okay like this?” Stan asks, pulling away just enough to get out a whisper.

“More than sure, Stan my man. I would endure much worse pain to kiss these sweet lips.” Richie says, and Stan knows he should be charmed. And part of him is, but the other part can’t help but wonder what Mike might say. He scolds his inner self, trying to ground himself back to Richie, the feel of his big hands and the wavy black hair curtaining their faces. Richie takes one of those big hands and drags a thumb down Stan’s jaw, face unbelievably open and fond. “I’m so glad we’re here.”

“Yeah, me too.” Stan says, and goes back in for the kiss.

This is when he feels like he and Richie could work, in a purely sexual sense. Richie isn’t someone he’d ever crushed on, but he’s a teenage boy. He’s thought about hooking up with all his friends, and Richie certainly wasn’t at the bottom of the list. Stan would even dare to say he’s closer to the top, but his number one spot is forever occupied. But, now, with Richie on top of him, tongue rolling into his mouth, Stan thinks that Richie’s probably moved up a slot or two.

“I like you underneath me.” Richie murmurs, dragging his lips down Stan’s jaw. 

That strikes a chord in Stan, and he feels a sudden rush of arousal. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Richie, who teases a hand against Stan’s crotch, barely pressing down, but making him shiver with its mere presence.

“What do we have here?” Richie chuckles, and Stan wonders when and where he picked up the dirty talking. “Looks like someone liked that.”

“Stop.” Stan’s cheeks burn, and he thinks he might not really mean it. In this moment, Richie is sexy, Richie  _ is  _ sex, and Stan’s heart is bound to hammer out of his chest at this rate.

“Do you want me to?” Richie asks, tilting his head and meeting Stan’s eyes, mouth curled up into a little smile.

“No.” Stan admits.

“Good. What do you want, Stan?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sure you do.” Richie says, pressing just a little harder with his hand.

“Fuck, Richie.” Stan sighs, then snaps his mouth shut.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” Richie coos, and his fingers are working hard at unbuttoning Stan’s jeans. He gets them undone and pauses to slide a hand up his shirt as well, cold against the warmth of Stan’s chest. “You beautiful boy.”

“You’re beautiful.” Stan confesses, prompted by the caress of Richie’s hand and the look in his eye, wild and near-depraved.

“I used to think about this all the time.” Richie says, his hand dipping below Stan’s waistband, feeling even heavier against the fabric of his underwear. “Absolutely fucking nothing compared to the real thing.”

“Hey,” Stan says, jarred by the reminder that this while he is settling, this is something Richie’s dreamed of. “Let’s not go too far today, okay? I want to take things slow.”

Richie pulls back his hand, letting it rest on Stan’s stomach. “Whatever you want, Stan. I understand.”

They don’t make out much longer. Stan feels guilty teasing Richie and knows he isn’t going to change his mind unless he experiences a drastic change in either personality or his feelings. Instead, he lets Richie turn on some trashy comedy movie and promises to pay close attention. But really he’s watching the clock, waiting on five-thirty to roll around so he can excuse himself to go pick up Mike. 

It finally comes, and he tries not to look eager, wills himself not to  _ feel  _ eager when he tells Richie he has to go.

“I just don’t want to leave him waiting if he’s doing you a favor.” Stan explains. “I hate to leave, though.”

“You could come back later.”

“I have an essay to write for our English class. Otherwise I totally would.”

“I understand, sweet Stanley. I can’t have you failing out on my behalf.”

“I’m sure you have some homework to do too.”

“Maybe, maybe not. You’ll never get me to reveal my secrets.”

“Just do your homework, Rich.” Stan says, kissing him on the forehead and watching the way his eyes light up at the affection.

Stan leaves feeling simultaneously more and less guilty than before their Sunday date slash makeout session. On one hand, he’s definitely amassing some sort of real feelings for Richie. On the other, he’s still stringing him along in a relationship that Stan, as of now, considers one with an expiration date. This only becomes more obvious as his heart flutters at the idea of seeing Mike, driving him back and forth so he can take Richie’s truck home.

When Stan pulls up to the farm, Mike is out in front of his house, trimming hedges. Stan’s jaw tightens, like he’s just swallowed a particularly sour candy, when Mike turns around and waves. He drops the clippers on the front porch, leans into the doorway and shouts a goodbye to his mother. He’s in Stan’s car way before he can fully prepare himself mentally.

“And how are you doing this afternoon?” Mike asks. “Better than Richie, I’m guessing.”

“I don’t know.” Stan says. “Seems to me like Richie will probably love an excuse to limp around on crutches, attaining the maximum amount of attention possible.”

Mike laughs. “You’re right. I forgot who we were dealing with here.”

Stan just hums an affirmative, clicking through radio stations with the buttons on his steering wheel. The drive to his house is only ten minutes, but at a minute in, it’s already agonizing. He’s forcing himself not to look in Mike’s direction, keeping his eyes trained on the road.

“How are you and Richie?” Mike asks. “Paradise?”

“Things are pretty great.” Stan says, chartering up all his enthusiasm. “Richie’s sweet, believe it or not.”

“I know he really cares about you. Bev was telling me the other day about how he’s liked you for years.”

Stan isn’t surprised that Bev would lay some groundwork to keep Richie from getting hurt, but he feels a little betrayed all the same.

“We’re just having fun.” Stan shrugs, one-shouldered.

“Does Richie know that?” Mike asks.

“I didn’t mean it that way. I mean...we’re not even really official yet, I don’t think. I’m not sure how this works anymore.”

“Well he’s not going to give you his letter jacket and ask you to go steady or anything. Sometimes it’s not so obvious. I’m sure he’ll ask you out soon.”

“I can’t wait.”

“I think you’re good for each other.” Mike says, totally unaware he’s hammering the nail into Stan’s coffin. “You’ll balance him out. And keep him from doing anything too stupid.”

“If today is any indication, the stupidity isn’t going to stop anytime soon.”

“Either way, it’s good to see two of my best friends making each other so happy.”

They get Richie’s truck back to his house in one piece without any real development. Stan sits in his car for at least ten minutes once he’s back home, just staring forward into his driveway and thinking about how badly he’s fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading. i'm enjoying telling this story so much. one day, i swear i will finish we'll all be gone for the summer. i just like playing in the universe before that occurs.  
> chapter title from lips of an angel by hinder! i know it's a white trash song! but it played in taco mac while i was having dinner the other day and i got emotional!


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